Toothbrush
by roundabout wickedness
Summary: Her first detention, a mysteriously familiar toothbrush, and a bit of fluff. PWP. Something I wrote a while ago, apparently intending to continue it, but for the life of me, I cannot remember what I planned for it.


**Fluffy; just a one-shot. It may or may not stay as such, considering I have absolutely no idea where I was going with this even though I just unearthed another (completely ridiculous) chapter. For now - yes, it will just be here for amusement. I do not own Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, or Severus Snape.  
**

Hermione was, for the lack of a better word, fuming as she stalked to the dungeons that evening – how dare he give her detention simply for helping Neville to not blow up the classroom. Would that greasy git like to have snake guts and slime all over his precious stone walls? Apparently so, because when she informed him that if she had not fixed Neville's potion, the whole class would be writhing in pain from the green goo that would be plastered all over their bodies, it made things worse. Now, Hermione Granger, good-girl and know-it-all, had her first detention in her history of six years at Hogwarts. To top things off, it was with Professor Snape, the dungeon bat, the greasy git, the bastard. Oh, let us not also forget that it was her seventh year – and she was the Head Girl of Hogwarts.

Hermione was not happy, to say the least. She decided she would go and be polite, but after that, she would go back to the dormitory and shower – forget him, forget it. He was the only person – the only man, she should say, her mother did a fine job of it as well – that could get under her skin and make her so angry. Ron and Harry – well they irritated her, but she was never more than exasperated with them. Professor Snape, on the other hand, pissed her off. And now she had to endure three long hours with him, possibly scrubbing cauldrons without a wand while he got off on the sadistic thought of it.

She pushed open the classroom door. "Professor Snape?" she said, making her presence known to the man who was currently bent over what looked to be a dead owl in the center of the classroom. He whirled around, and she was surprised to see him look shocked and even a bit depressed. It was even more shocking to notice that he wasn't quite looking himself. He was not dressed in his robes, for one thing – more in a leisurely type of robe. It was odd.

"Granger. Your task tonight is to scrub the floors. Without magic," he said as he tossed her a toothbrush and then bent to pick up the owl, which was apparently, not dead – Hermione could see just the subtle rising of the chest. "I expect these floors –" he gestured "– to be clean, not _merely_ passable." He then stalked out of the classroom into his adjoining office.

Hermione let out a very audible groan as she stared at the toothbrush she hoped would suffice to clean the potions classroom. For a moment, she stared at his office door, brows furrowed in something that closely resembled both anger and confusion, but that moment quickly passed. She started scrubbing the floors, mentally cursing Snape as she did so. There were stains from various potions, some stains from piss – yes, some of the first years actually wet themselves when Snape stalked into his classroom like an unholy angel.

She let out a small chuckle at that thought – Severus Snape really was an unholy angel, or so it would seem. Even though she loathed him, she knew what he did for the Order, but right now was not the time to dwell on such thoughts. She would scrub until the floor shimmered, albeit the fact her only tool was a slightly aged toothbrush with frayed and broken bristles. The handle was black. And in gold writing on the handle, the name "Hermione Granger" was embossed. This struck Hermione as strangely uncanny, until she remembered that was her name, and the full implications of what such a toothbrush was doing in the hands of one Severus Snape.

The truth be told, Hermione positively reeled backwards, looking at the toothbrush as if it had burned her. She might have shouted, which would explain why Snape charged out of his office with a hostile expression. "What on earth are you yelling about, Miss Granger?" he said; his voice was low with enough venom to make her pause. "Do tell me."

"You – you have my _toothbrush_," she accused, sitting on the floor with a quite bereft expression on her face. "Teachers are not allowed in students' rooms!"

He smirked. "How very observant of you, Miss Granger, but that is of no consequence." Hermione hated that he just waved it off as nothing, and she sputtered angrily, hazel eyes trying to give him the cold hard look he was giving her. "I thought it would add to the punishment. After all, it is a fitting punishment for back-talking to a professor," he remarked in a tone of voice she found she did not like at all.

"I should report you to the Headmaster for this, Professor," she retorted with enough acid in her own voice to make him stop mid-stride. He pivoted on his heel; robes billowing around in what would have normally frightened her had she not been incensed about the fact she had just scrubbed the dungeon floor with her very own toothbrush. Yet, the offending floor did look quite nice – she had wondered why the toothbrush was cleaning with such ease. She had charmed her toothbrush once she started caring about her appearance enough to have clean, white teeth. It would tackle any stain and malicious odor without fail – and therefore served well to clean the floor.

Suddenly, though, she felt herself being lifted from the floor by the very capable git she was serving detention for. "Miss Granger, do you remember our talk about back-talking and how disrespectful it is?" he growled, his dark eyes boring into her. She blinked, hoping that he would release her – his hand was curled in the front of her robes, holding her close to him.

"Yes, sir," she answered, maybe a little too meekly, and then a devilish idea popped into her head. She let her muscles relax and so she was just dead weight for him to hold up. He dropped her, not surprisingly, but when she crumpled to the floor, she thought she saw a hint of concern on his pale features. Of course, that is until he saw her smirk. "I think we need to have a talk about your man-handling of me," she said with bravado as she stood and brushed herself off. "_Professor._"

He looked like he was considering whether or not to slap her. He even brought his left hand up to do the task, and then appeared to reconsider. However, it did not take long for Hermione to notice the rather recent, untreated scald marks that speckled the pale skin. She raised an eyebrow and pointedly suggested, "Madame Pomfrey has a good treatment for burns like that, sir."

It made him scowl. She knew it would, and she smiled inwardly. "Miss Granger, I suggest you leave before you find yourself with another detention," he threatened. Hermione actually became worried and gathered her belongings. Before she left, however, she paused at the door and turned around.

"Good night, Professor Snape."

As the door closed behind her, Snape stared as if she had struck him.


End file.
